


Running

by SephrinaRose



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Attempted Murder, BAMF Stiles, Bounty Hunters, Car Trips, Gen, Hurt Stiles, Mild Sterek, Panic Attacks, Post-Nogitsune, Protective Derek, Sassy Stiles, Stiles is Hunted, Stiles is still recovering, Stilinski feels, post 3b, wounded stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-29 21:58:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3912154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SephrinaRose/pseuds/SephrinaRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles was running.</p><p>But then again, it really shouldn't be surprising.</p><p>Stiles was always f*cking running.</p><p>Away from his problems. Away from his homework. Away from werewolves...Just the usual. Except, he felt he could hazard a guess that this time it was slightly different.</p><p>Because he wasn't running away from anything supernatural. It wasn't a werewolf or a Kanima or anything grand or mysterious.</p><p>It was a hunter. The same hunter that had tied to kill him only minutes ago in his comfy and safe bed. </p><p>Or, in which..</p><p>Stiles finds himself uprooted and confronted with a sudden bounty placed on his head. And Stiles can't runaway on his own. So, it is up to Derek to keep him safe from bounty hunters and from himself.</p><p>Joy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Attempt

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. 
> 
> New story! One that not sad and Stiles isn't dying! Shock-horror.
> 
> Enjoy :)

Stiles was running.

But then again, it really shouldn't be surprising.

Stiles was always f*cking running.

Away from his problems. Away from his homework. Away from werewolves...Just the usual. Except, he felt he could hazard a guess that this time it was slightly different.

Because he wasn't running away from anything supernatural. It wasn't a werewolf or a Kanima or anything grand or mysterious.

It was a hunter. A freaking hunter.

Yeah. Go ahead. Call him a wimp. But who wouldn't start running when you were woken up by the sound of somebody breaking into your house...when you were home alone? And yeah, he should be used to people breaking into his room. Like, Derek?

But not people that tried to strangle him with his bed sheets.

So yeah, he was f*cking running.

He stumbled through the trees with his usual grace, but looking a whole lot less controlled with his racing heart and shaking limbs. He could feel blood running down his knees from when he tripped, running hot down his frozen skin.

Because it was Autumn. And it was the middle of the night. It was _cold_ , damn it.

His blood pulsed beneath his skin, frantically and rhythmically along with his heart. He felt it pulsing underneath the skin of his neck, where he knew there would be bruises forming. He knew what it felt like to have bruises forming on your skin.

...he'd run with Werewolves long enough to at least know that.

But he didn't even know how he'd gotten away. One minute there was a heavy - like damn heavy dude, either built like a tank or severely obese - man straddling him and strangling him...the next he was running out his back door and into the woods.

But he was pretty sure there had been a lampshade involved.

And he liked that lampshade, damnit. It gave nice and soft light for his room...Just another f*cking thing he was going to have to replace.

God, it was annoying having people trying to kill you.

And just the tiniest bit terrifying. That too.

But the fact that he had no idea why made it worse. Because usually when people tired to kill him he knew why. Like Derek, he wanted to kill him (not necessarily, but Stiles was pretty sure you died when you got your throat ripped out with werewolf teeth) because he was annoying.

This, he had no idea.

And everything had been chill. There had been no threats on them or their town. They had been able to get themselves all sorted out after the Nogitsune. Had time to heal.

Especially Stiles.

And he was glad he had that time. 'Cause, God, did he need it. He needed time to learn how to live again without a voice in his head. Another soul in his body.

 

But he was okay now. He only had his scars as memory. Just like the rest of his body, he guessed. His body as his scrapbook of memories. A new scar for every new foe. But this foe had not yet left his scar. And Stiles was pretty sure he was going to run out of room. 

And Stiles didn't know what he wanted.

 

Didn't know why he'd chosen Stiles. Chosen the human? Dumb choice in his opinion. He'd totally go for Scott if he was evil. Go for the Alpha, that'd do nicely.

But then again, if he wanted what Stiles thought he might...it was actually really smart. But that was thinking like Peter. And he'd only stay sane if he could truly believe nobody else in this world was as screwed up as that man.

So he decided to ignore that thought. Ignore most of these extremely unhelpful thoughts in favour of running for his f*cking _life_.

He suddenly changed direction again, hopping to throw this man off him. Because that guy was chasing. He wasn't running for no reason, unlike most would think. He knew this man was human, but that only gave him small comfort.

Because humans could be just as horrible as the supernatural.

But at least he didn't have a werewolf on his case. One, he'd already be dead. Two, they'd be able to track Stiles but his scent and he'd have no hope of getting away.

So he'd be double dead.

 

Stiles sprinted, Ignoring the aching burn building in his legs. And he knew that was sign that they were close to giving out on him. He'd already moved past the "God this hurts, I wanna stop" stage. He was onto the "My legs are legit going to stop working" because he wasn't a werewolf.

Yeah, his stamina was okay for all the running and lacrosse. But he still had his overbearing limits, the ones that were present in everything he did.

Like the fact that he was human. Teenage human boy with absolutely no training whatsoever. Unlike this buff of a guy (who he'd decided was built like a tank due to the fact that he was still chasing Stiles) who was trained to kill.

But why Stiles? He didn't think he'd ever know.

But he needed to make a decision real quick if this night wasn't going to end in his death or kidnapping. So yeah. Decision time.

...good time for his brain to kick in.

Okay okay. Running. Hunter. Woods.

Options?

No Scott, too far away. No Issac either. Kira? Definitely not. Lydia? he wishes. Malia? She was long gone from this place. Ethan was gone too. Danny? Not if Stiles wanted to endanger him too.

So that left Derek. Perfect choice, actually. He lived in the woods Stiles was running through. Well, not anymore. But Stiles had found him spending a lot of time there in the past month since the Nogitsune and all that. It was his best bet. But, there was still the slightly relevant variable was the fact that he might get his throat ripped out for just stepping through the door.

So yeah. Death by Hunter or chance death by Derek? Both very scary. Both very dangerous.

But he was pretty sure he might be able to talk Derek down. Or at least have Scott on his back when he killed Stiles.

...because then at least they would know where to find his body.

 

Okay. Yes. Going to Derek's.

Stiles racked his brains and scanned the surroundings passing him by, for something substantial. Something to tell him where he was. He looked up at the moon disappearing and reappearing though the tree canopy, casting scattered light over Stiles.

Yes. Good. The moon. It was about midnight, about the time of night that time Stiles had found Derek's house with Scott all those years ago. Okay, memories. The moon should be near the same part of the lunar cycle...meaning Derek's house is..

North.

 

He turned rapidly, skidding on the leaves and undergrowth. Probably tearing up some new flowers or something Sorry, woods. He'd didn't really mean too, honestly. But Stiles was kinda preoccupied running for his _life_. He heard a yell of frustration behind him, a hundred meters or so away. The man was gaining. And Stiles was slowing down.

Screw Derek honestly. He'd rather die by somebody he knew than this terrifying human monster behind him.

Ha, how the tables have turned.

He sped up even when his legs screamed at him, the light wind whipping past him like dry ice. He needed to feel safe..or at least safer. Because right now he could feel himself on the verge of a panic attack.

And a panic attack would mean he stopped running. Mean that he let the monster chasing him get him. Gave himself up. And he can't do that. His pride would be severely damaged...as well as his life. Yeah, that one too.

He needed to get to Derek's. Like right now!

Stiles breathed heavily, trying to even his breaths even as he sprinted. Panic Attacks 101, steady your breathing.

But it was kinda hard when you're running for your life.

Stiles kept his gaze ahead, focusing on his goal even when his legs threatened to give out. Because Derek was his ticket out. Derek would at least kill the hunter before he killed Stiles. And Stiles could, if only for a moment...feel _safe_. A feeling hard come by in this life.

Stiles almost whooped for joy when the Hale house came into view. And the burnt shell had never looked so appealing. He put everything he had left into his legs, advancing frantically on the fire-wrecked building.

"Derek!" He screamed, hoping to God that Derek was here. And he almost cried when the front door opened to show the man looking confused.

"Derek!" He screamed again, breaking the Forrest line and tunnelling straight into the house. Or at least tried to. Derek caught him before he could run past him, arms grabbing him around his waist.

He heaved with his breaths, trying to explain why he shouldn't kill him and instead let him in.

But then his attacker broke the boundary line and spoke for him. Derek's eyes flashed blazing blue! and Stiles counted that as win. Stiles was tossed then inside the house, as far away from the hunter as possible. And then Derek was on him, claws and teeth glinting in the moonlight.

Derek growled fearlessly, more animal than human. The hunter seemed surprised to find a Werewolf in the path between his target and himself. As though he didn't know that Stiles had a ally in the forrest. Didn't know he had a pack.

Stiles filed that away for later, instead trying to get his breathing back into order and starve off his panic attack.

But he still felt the shaking in his bones and the jitteriness of his nerves, recoiling as waves of shock rolled over him. He scrambled back for the fight, ignoring the bump on his head from when Derek threw him back onto the floor. He didn't have time to grumble over Derek. The man was currently, and most probably unintentionally, saving his life.

He scrambled further back into the house, going right up the blackened wall. But, he still felt too vulnerable. Too open for attack.

But then again...he didn't think he would feel safe anywhere right now. Not when he'd almost been killed in his bed twenty minutes ago. And so he looked around, trying to find a enclosed space to curl up in.

The space was mostly un-lived in. Derek had his own place now, but he hadn't received anything from this place when he moved. And Stiles didn't think he would have.

Better for him, he guessed.

He spotted Derek's old couch, the leather upholstery cracking in places. But that didn't matter for him, because it still looked pretty nice and enclosed underneath. He scrambled onto his legs, or tied to before they gave out on him. Instead, he crawled pathetically and scrambled beneath the couch, putting his back against the wall and keeping a eye out.

He curled up into a ball, trying to ignore the sounds of the vicious fight outside. But, he still flinched when he heard the gunshots and growls. He tried to focus on his breathing. The ins and the outs.

He put a hand over his heart, as though that would calm it.

He just stayed silent as we weaned himself away from the panic and the fear. Feeling the adrenaline fade. And he was glad, now he would have control. Over his body and his emotions. But, as the adrenaline faded...he also felt the damage on full. Like, "boom, have some of that."

And God...everything hurt.

And not in the good way. That was not some refreshing workout. Was not the good ach Ethan came from serious exercise.

His legs burned. Burned like the Devil's asshole. It hurt that much. And his neck throbbed. Throbbed and burned every time he breathed. Yeah, whoops. There might be a few broken blood vessels or something in there. Nothing too serious, he hoped.

He didn't know if he was up for hospital. For the bright lights and the memories.

And besides, Derek might have him dead before he could even think about hospital. Don't get ahead of yourself, Stiles.

The sound of flesh ripping suddenly filled his ears, and for some godforsaken reason his heart stopped beating. Because, in that second, he hadn't known whose death had just happened. Didn't know which one of them died.

And for a moment he felt so sick.

But then it was gone. He heard the familiar growl and his heart settled back into where it should have been all along. Like, what the _hell_?

He clenched his hand in the fabric of his ripped and bloody nightshirt, only just realising that his hands had blood all over them.

His head was bleeding. He hadn't even noticed. But, he couldn't hold it against Derek. Couldn't even find it in himself to care. But maybe that was the tiredness talking.

He'd probably be bitching about it in the morning.

...if he'd even see morning.

"Stiles?" He heard, and immediately his body seized. He stopped breathing for a moment, feeling like a mouse waiting for the cat to jump out at him.

"Stiles?" He heard again, less echoing as he moved closer and going softer. But why would Derek's voice be any softer? Pity? Care?

Stiles was imagining it.

He watched fearfully as Derek's feet entered the room in front of him. He curled up tighter, eyes focused steadily on the predator in the room. He knew Derek would find him by his heartbeat, and it shook him to know that hiding wouldn't do anything.

He was never going to be safe.

And then Derek was in front of him, feet barely inches from his face. He heard Derek sigh before the man was on his knees, staring down under the couch and into Stiles eyes.

And Derek must have smelt his spike of fear because he backed off, moving a foot or two away before leaning down and looking at Stiles again.

"Stiles?" He said, a weird soft undertone to his gruff voice.

"I'm here" he said, rather pathetically. Derek knew he was there. But, he felt the need to prove to him that he was here. All of him. His mind was here too.

Because that seemed to always be a concern since the Nogitsune. Everyone looking at him like he might suddenly disappear before their eyes.

"I'm still here." He said, talking soothing him. But, he could still feel the tension. Because he didn't know what Derek was going to do now.

And he was pretty sure Derek felt that tension in the air.

He sighed again, and Stiles looked at him properly. He was a little worse for wear, a torn shirt and blood on his chin where Stiles assumed there had previously been a gaping wound.

God, did he want a heal like that.

"Im not going to hurt you, you can come out." Stiles narrowed his gaze, and Derek rolled his eyes.

"I'm not going to, I swear. Not now."

And that was the closest thing to a promise that a Stiles was ever going to get.

So he got up. Gingerly sliding out from underneath the couch as Derek backed up some more. His heartbeat was in a steady zone, his breathing now even.

...The closest thing he was going to get to normal right now.

But, he still felt the tightness in his chest and the tingle in his fingers and toes. Because he didn't feel safe. But, he had a feeling he wouldn't be feeling safe for a long time.

So he shoved it away, trying to be the person he was known as.

"Well, that was eventful. Wasn't it?" He said, brushing himself off and pulling a face at his state of dress. Derek only watched him thoughtfully, before his face went to resting in its seemingly permanent frown.

"Why the hell was a Hunter chasing you in the middle of the night?" He asked, the soft tone gone from his voice.

"Because otherwise I'd be dead in my bed" Stiles answered, gesturing to his throat almost flippantly. He sat down on the couch behind him, his legs threatening to give out on him again and let him make an even bigger fool out of himself.

And it must have looked bad, judging from the way Derek's eyes flashed blue as he registered the sight.

"He tried to kill you?" Derek looked shocked. Probably assuming Stiles had been nosing his way into the hunters business and pissed him off.

"Yeah. In my bed where I was sleeping. With my bed sheets, apparently." He clarified. Because, this time, he'd been completely innocent and had done nothing to deserve this.

"Tried to kill you with your bed sheet?" Derek asked, still looking like he didn't understand.

Fair play. Stiles didn't either.

"Yep. Tried to tie it around my neck and strangle me." He said. "Is that all you need to know?" He asked, exhaustion making him slightly crabby.

"Okay." Derek said, hearing the tone of annoyance. "Do you know why?"

Stiles almost hissed at him in frustration, before remembering something. It hadn't been because of his pack...the hunter hadn't even known he was in one.

So..why?

And Stiles opened his mouth to answer, before a voice suddenly interrupted him.

"Isn't it obvious?" Peter drawled, suddenly appearing from the blackened woodwork. Derek rolled his eyes, and probably knowing Peter was there all along. Sticking to the shadows like the absolute creep he was.

"Good lord, somebody needs to get you a bell." Stiles almost yelled, holding his chest. He was very delicate right now, thank you very much. He needed some serious time away from people that could move silently. Or just away from Peter in general.

That'd be good.

Peter seemed to pause for dramatic effect before Derek growled at him. He opened his mouth to answer, a sinister gin sliding onto his lips.

 

"Someone's put a bounty on your head."


	2. Leaving Everything Behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Derek?" He asked, imploringly. Like, please? Do I really have to go? Where do I go?
> 
> Derek seemed to watch him for a moment. Suddenly, a light filled his eyes.
> 
> "I'll take you East." He said. And apparently, that was that. Stiles knew he wasn't going to be able to change his mind.
> 
> That didn't stop him from complaining, though.
> 
> "Whaaa? You? Why?"
> 
> "I'm not the Alpha. I'm not needed here. Plus, I have business in New York."
> 
> "New York!" Stiles screeched, ignoring the throbbing of his throat. "You want to take me to New York!?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chappie. 
> 
> Thankyou for all the love!!! It encouraged me to write this chapter.
> 
> Enjoy :)

"But _why_?"

"You don't have time to be asking questions, Stiles. The next one will be coming...and soon. You need to go."

Go? Go where? He had nowhere to run to. This was as far as his plan got. He'd thought he could be safe here, but it turned out that nowhere was safe anymore. Not for Stiles.

But he couldn't just leave. Couldn't leave his school and friends and father. Couldn't just _disappear_.

"Where?"

"Oh for God's Sake, Stiles. Leave. Run. You needed get out of here!" Peter yelled, moving his hands to shake Stiles shoulders.

But then Derek was between them, turning to look at Stiles, seeming aware of his emotional termoil. He had a feeling they could both smell it, but Peter just didn't care.

But then that would mean that Derek cared. And that simply wasn't possible...Stiles would need to assess that at a later date. Right now he needed some Adderall and sleep.

"Derek?" He asked, imploringly. Like, please? Do I really have to go? Where _do_ I go?

Derek seemed to watch him for a moment. Suddenly, a light filled his eyes.

"I'll take you East." He said. And apparently, that was that. Stiles knew he wasn't going to be able to change his mind.

That didn't stop him from complaining, though.

"Whaaa? You? Why?"

"I'm not the Alpha. I'm not needed here. Plus, I have business in New York."

"New York!" Stiles screeched, ignoring the throbbing of his throat. "You want to take me to _New York?_ "

"Yes, Stiles. New York." Derek sighed. "It's either that, or you fend for yourself against...well, you know who."

Stiles weighed his options. He could stay here, and endanger everyone around him. Or he could go with Derek who was a big strong werewolf. Stiles squinted at Derek, taking in the massive Hercules biceps and large frame. Stiles guessed he could use a body guard that looked like that. And besides, he could always ditch and run and leave Derek to fight off anyone that came after him.

"Alright." He said, but more for his pride than actual decision making. Derek knew he was going to choose Derek over being a sitting duck. It was like choosing life over death. "And how exactly do you plan on getting us across the freaking country? I don't have the money for a plane ticket. And I aint asking me dad for another favour after paying those MRI scan bills."

"We're going in my car."

"Oh god, I'm going batshit insane. You don't even let me touch your shiny car." Stiles said, mind still rolling at the fact that he was suddenly up and moving away for awhile, let alone in Derek Hale's shiny back sports car.

And to think he'd only been sleeping in bed a hour ago.

 

He sighed, but he could feel all the questions running around in his head. Doing absolutely nothing productive but confusing the hell out of him.

...he needed that Adderall now.

"Okay. My house. Now." He said, completely done with today.

But he could also feel the lingering fear in his heart, throbbing along under the skin of his neck. He knew that this wasn't going to be pleasant. Knew that it was going to be long and horrible actually.

And what about all his responsibilities? School? His _pack_?

What happened now? What would his life become?

Stiles immediately stopped that track of thought, instead focusing on getting his legs to take him out of the house. He had every plan of just walking home, before the rational part of his brain caught up with the rest of him.

1) His house was a few miles away. 2) he should know better than to walk alone in the Forrest, especially now.

When people were out for his blood.

Like, _why_? Why the hell would somebody want Stiles? He wasn't worth anything to them. Sure, he could do a little magic. But his main talents were sarcasm and running away.

This was totally out of the ball park. This whole bounty hunter thing was _way_ out of his league. He was a damn human. 147 pound human, only a wee bit of lean muscle too call his own.

Unlike Derek. Who he was pretty sure saw this all the time back in the day.

Because this was happening. He was running across the country to escape people trying to kill him. And he was running with Derek Hale.

He was going to be in a car with Derek Hale for weeks. In an enclosed space. The last time they had been in a car together, Stiles got his head slammed on the steering wheel.

It wasn't looking good for Stiles. Not anywhere. He wasn't safe on his own. Wasn't safe in his house or under his fathers protection. He wasn't safe with Derek either.

But the Derek option was least likely probably going to end with him in a ditch somewhere. Derek could protect him if he chose to.

...Stiles would just have to keep convincing him that an alive Stiles was a good Stiles. While they set in a car for weeks on end. With only the radio and the scenery to distract and keep Stiles attention, to keep him from talking.

Great.

 

He felt a hand on his arm, Ignoring his flinch and guiding him to Derek's sleek-ass car. Stiles would usually jump for joy at being let into Derek's car. But, right now, he just wanted to go home.

...not that his home was really going to be home for him anymore. Not for a while.

He just hoped he'd have a life to return to back here. Once they figured out why people were trying to kill him and what they wanted. Then they'd have to either convince them to stop hunting Stiles, or _force_ them to stop.

Because they couldn't hurt Stiles if they were dead.

Derek put him in the car, muttering something about grabbing supplies and to stay put. Stay safe. Stiles hated being told to stay put. But he was too tired to care right now, and, he was going to have to learn self-restraint if he was going to trekking the country with this guy.

Stiles didn't know when he fell asleep. Only that he woke up.

 

...........

 

He woke to Derek's hands shaking him.

And Stiles opened his eyes to find himself out the front of his house, his father standing on the grass and looking at him kn distress, dressed in his police gear.

It must be late (early?) if his father was back from his double shift.

Stiles weakly pushed Derek's hands off him, muttering unintelligibly. He went to stand up and get out the car, but then he was conveniently reminded of the injures on his body.

And then his father was in front of him, clutching Stiles to his chest. Stiles gripped him tightly, realising that Derek must have told him...And he probably saw the purpling wounds on Stiles neck too.

Stiles let a sob escape, letting go of all his pain and confusion onto his dad. He felt his dad pick him up although he wasn't a sixteen year old boy and carry him inside.

But Stiles was too busy crying to take much care.

He felt himself be put on the couch, his father next to him. He vaguely heard the discussion between them and Stiles's father telling Derek to get what he needed.

And Stiles was too busy crying to think how weird it was to have Derek packing his clothes for him.

Instead he was thinking, mind was buzzing and emotions rolling like fierce storm waves. He cried into his fathers shoulder, fretting the direction his life was headed in. He didn't want to leave. He really didn't.

He wanted to stay here in his fathers arms, and at least try to pretend that he was safe. That anyone looking for a few spare dollars would be coming for him.

Pretend that at least he knew why.

He didn't want to leave this place. This place with so many memories of his family. Of his life...of his _mother_. He didn't want to leave her either.

But he had to go.

 

He felt his father shift, accepting something from Derek and holding it out to Stiles.

His Adderall. He grabbed it from his father with a muted "Thanks" and took two of them dry. He swallowed, breathing heavily and trying to get himself back together. He shook the container, feeling it relatively full. This bottle could last him a few months, if he didn't needed to take extra.

But hopefully he'd be home by then.

He felt himself fade back into reality, when the lights stopped being so bright and his life didn't seem like it was ending.

"-and school? What the hell do I do about that Derek?" He heard his father say. He lifted his head, signalling to the others that Stiles was back.

"I could do online courses dad. Homeschooling." He said, smiling lightly. Smiling like this wasn't he last time he was going to see his father for a long time.

Maybe ever.

Stiles dad looked conflicted, like he was trying to throw anything at them that could somehow let Stiles stay. Let him be _safe_.

But Stiles father was human too. And humans could only do so much in this world.

"..okay." Stiles' father agreed, nodding and resigning to this fate. "But promise me Derek, you _will_ protect him. You _will_ keep him safe. And you _will_ bring him back to me." His voice was strong, the voice of a Sheriff. The voice Stiles loved.

He looked up at Derek, knowing Derek did not make promises lightly. And he was also interested to hear the answer. Because if Derek agreed to this, he'd be promising to not kill Stiles. Promising the protect him with everything he had. Promising to the Sheriff that he would do anything in his power to make sure he didn't loose another family member...make sure he didn't loose his only son.

And Derek knew what it felt like to be the only one left.

"I promise, John." Derek said. And Stiles was surprised. Not only did Derek swear his life on Stiles', but he also knew his fathers name.

Sneaky bastards had been colluding behind his back.

He smiled faintly, both at Derek's promise and his memories of when everything was easier. But, then again, even then, life hadn't been easy.

But he had been rolling with the punches for a long time. He could deal if the punches got a little stronger.

He stood up with his fathers help, his legs needing some serious R&R. But, he'd have plenty time to rest them when travelling in the car.

Travelling in Derek's car. He was still not over that.

He began walking back out of the house, looking around and trying to commit everything to memory. Because, while his room had been ruined by circumstance, the rest of his house stayed clean. Stayed in his mind as a place he could always come back to. A place that he would always call home.

He smiled tightly, feeling the pain of having to move so suddenly. He didn't have time to appreciate the small things. The things that made this house a home.

...he just hoped he remembered them.

He walked out of the house for could what be the final time. But he didn't think that, because he needed to stay positive. Needed to trust Derek and build himself up from there. Rebuild his defence that had been shattered by that man in his room only a few hours ago.

At least now he could say he'd kinda cheated death tonight. But he had the feeling that that sentence was going to loose all meaning by the end of this. Because if he was going to survive he'd need to cheat death everyday.

Yay.

He smiled at his dad, trying to portray all his love and reduce the tenseness of his smile. His dad stifled a sob, swinging his other arm around Stiles and hugging him tight. Stiles smile wavered, clutching his dad as close as he could.

He wanted to stay in this hug forever. Surrounded by warmth and love.

But he had to go.

"I love you." His father whispered into his ear. "To the moon and back." Stiles smiled at the old saying, remembering a time when his mother was still alive and he was safe.

"I love you too." He agreed. And then he let go. He let Derek get under his arm and take him away.

"To the moon and back."


	3. The Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was going to sleeping in the same room as Derek Hale. A Werewolf. A man that had at least 50 pounds on him and his body was his weapon.
> 
> Stiles was really out of it since the first attempt on his life. He didn't know why it was so horrifying to be sharing a room with Derek while he slept. He'd done it in the car. Why was it so hard now? It might have been the fact that now Derek didn't have to drive.
> 
> Or that fact that Derek's body shape was eerily similar to his attackers.
> 
> ...He could almost feel the nightmares already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. Loving all the kudos, bookmarks and comments!!! 
> 
> Just, fair warning: Mentions of suicide. Nothing actually happens or is actually really thought about at all. Nobody had sucidal thoughts or anything like that. It's just mentioned.
> 
> Enjoy :)

Running for your life was less dramatic than Stiles thought.

All he did was sleep and eat occasionally, only talking when asking for the water bottle or for more food. But then again, this was just the calm before the storm. The gap before the people hunting him would realise he was running.

The gap in time before they started to follow.

And Stiles wasn't exactly talkative at the moment, but he knew better than to think his spontaneous fact vomiting was not gone forever. It would probably make a appearance at the most inopportune of times.

And then Derek would get a real taste of what I was like to road trip with Stiles. Also, without the focus of him driving...it was going to be bad. He knew not to ask Derek to drive. Derek might just decide that no promise was worth his shiny car, and throw him out of it. But he didn't need a distraction.

It wasn't his fault he had a low attention span and was easily bored. Why the hell do you think he got into this mess? In the very beginning? He was appeasing his boredom by running thought woods with his best friend. That's what.

He still have a very good track record of staying out of trouble. He was like 86% sure that his father had actually booked him for trespassing or something. Thanks dad.

He hoped it wouldn't come up ok his record when he traveled to New York. Because yeah. This skinny white boy was going to New York. And he was going with this hunk-a-trunk next to him.

It sounded like the beginning of a romance novel. Stiles curled his lip, turning to look out the window. He didn't like the sound of that. Because, if thinking like most straight people do, he was going to be classified as the girl in this gay-ass relationship. He was not a girl, thank you very much.

But he'd love to try and see Derek be a girly puppy. Maybe some frills, a couple bows. That'd make his _year_ , hands down. Stiles stifled laughter by biting his lip.

But of course Derek heard him.

"What's so funny?" Derek asked like he didn't actually care much for the answer. Stiles shrugged, turning to face forwards again as he played it cool.

"Oh, nothing really."

"If you are going to be laughing in my car I need to know why" Derek huffed. Stiles blanched.

"Oh? So everything I do in your car needs to be regulated by you, does it? 'Stiles, why are you laughing?' 'Stiles, why did you look out the window?' 'Stiles, why did you blink?'" Stiles impersonated Derek, making his voice low and screwing his face up into a frown as he stared down Derek.

Derek didn't look at him, his eyes on the road ahead of them. But Stiles knew he was somehow watching him in his peripheral vision. He'd done it to Stiles before, and Stiles had wanted to learn how to do it so he could totally check people out without looking like a creep. He tried, in front of his mirror. And he was pretty sure he broke his eyes for a minute trying it.

But Derek pulled it off flawlessly, like most things in his abs and biceps filled life.

Stiles wondered if it was a wolf thing...or if he himself was simply incapable of something that could make him look less awkward. Of course not. Stiles isn't allowed to be normal.

...but then again, how _boring_ would it be to be normal?

Not many guys his age could say they had been possessed by a evil fox spirit and had their minds almost shattered and their body stabbed. Because, yeah, Stiles still has that scar running acorss his abdomen.

But that wasn't really something to brag about. Stiles never would. Most the time, he tried to just pretend it didn't happen. That he was fine.

He could feel that small lie slowly become less and less true. Because, honestly, Stiles was not fine. He thought he might have been able to completely heal if that guy hadn't come and tried to kill him. He wasn't mentally prepared for anything like that, he'd only just finished rebuilding his shaky barriers.

He hadn't had time to stabilise them yet.

And here he was, running away from everything he knew. Leaving everything behind. And to the world, he disappeared without a trace. Just suddenly gone in the night. Without reason, without a motive. Just gone.

Because Derek had this running away thing down pat. He'd immediately taken Stiles phone and ripped out the sim. Stiles hardly protested as he dropped it on the ground and smashed it. Derek had inserted a new sim, telling him they would change it every week. And Stiles was grateful, because with his phone he at least had some intention to home.

To his Father, to Scott...to everyone that he had left.

And he was determined that they would not loose him too. Because too many had died. Too many had left them.

He was going to come back. He was.

And Derek was his way back to them. His protector and guider. He just did as Derek said. Keeping his head near his feet when they crossed though little towns along the dusty and bare highway. Stayed in the car when Derek asked too.

Stiles was becoming obedient. And he didn't like it one bit.

When he was relatively safe he was going to make a point to disobey Derek. To piss him off. When they stopped. When they got to New York.

Definitely.

They were trying to stay near the coast. Simply because it was safer, apparently. Stiles didn't question Derek though.

Right now they were in Phoenix. The air was cool and dry, the Fall settling in. They hadn't stopped in 20 hours. And even with superior werewolf stamina, Stiles knew Derek was going to have to pull in somewhere for the night. At it was getting dark now, the sun low enough to get though the back window of Derek's Car and warm the back of their seats.

And Stiles knew that not only Werewolves came out at night. He had been fine the first night, cause he'd been sleeping before night fell. Tonight, though...it was going to be rough. Because not only did he had nowhere to run to, nowhere it be safe in, he also had some killers looking for his blood.

Yay for Stiles.

He looked over a Derek, their conversation dropped from before as Stiles disappeared into his thoughts.

"Derek?" He asked, and the man grunted. "We need to pull in for the night."

Derek seemed to think about it, but Stiles knew he wouldn't be able to get his way. They both knew how tired he was. So Derek nodded, like it was actually his choice to make. And I kinda was. Stiles had no power over wether they stopped or started or whatever.

But Stiles could pretend he was in charge of his own life for two seconds at least.

 

.......

 

When Stiles thought they'd be stopping somewhere. He hadn't exactly envisioned this.

But then again, maybe his expectations had been too high.

 

Stiles looked at his living space for the night. It was a tiny bedroom with adjoining bathroom. The bedroom had two beds. One for him and one for Derek. 

He was going to sleeping in the same room as Derek Hale. A Werewolf. A man that had at least 50 pounds on him and his body was his weapon.

Stiles was really out of it since the first attempt on his life. He didn't know why it was so horrifying to be sharing a room with Derek while he slept. He'd done it in the car. Why was it so hard now? It might have been the fact that now Derek didn't have to drive.

Or that fact that Derek's body shape was eerily similar to his attackers.

...He could almost feel the nightmares already.

He tried not think how easy (if not how much easier) It would be for Derek to try the exact same thing as his attacker. Push him down into his mattress and tie the sheets around his throat.

Stiles gingerly brushed his throat, his bags on his bed. It was still so very sore. But it ached more than throbbed now. Derek told him to put his collar up when they walked into the motel, and Stiles could only guess how bad it looked.

...since he hadn't even looked in the mirror since it happened.

Stiles abruptly stood, taking his hand from his throat and grabbing the stuff he would need for a shower. Derek was across the pathway in reception, paying for their stay on his untraceable credit card.

He ducked into the bathroom, closing the door solidly behind him. The click of the lock was solid and heavy. Safe.

...or at least a little safe. One more locked door between him and whoever was out there. But not Derek. He had no reason to afraid of Derek right now. Sure, he was intimidating, but he had upheld his promise to do everything in his power to protect Stiles so far.

He wouldn't hurt Stiles, not like that man - _bounty hunter_ , he had to remind himself, because that was a thing now - had.

Stiles tuned to see a small mirror just above the cream ceramic sink. It was only about the size of his face. But it was enough.

Stiles gaped openly, his heartbeat rising a little in shock. Cause, God...that was bad. The bruising was a large and thick line of purple around his neck. It was about two inches thick, looking like a choker. It looked like he'd tried to kill himself, in all honesty. That bruise could be misinterpreted as a rope mark. Because he needed something like this while trying to stay inconspicuous.

Anyone that saw him would remember him if they saw the bruise. And they would tell anyone that ask.

Anyone looking for him.

...not good. Definitely not good.

 

But he couldn't do anything about it. He could get some foundation in the morning to cover it, but right now he was just going to have to deal with looking like he was suicidal.

Because the rest of him wasn't looking too healthy either. He had dark circles under his eyes, hopefully less then that night. He also had scratches running up his arms and on his feet from the foliage he'd ripped past when he was running. They were like tiny paper cuts....leaf cuts. Stiles had officially decided to call them that.

So much and happened to him in the last 24 hours. He had hardly felt them.

Suddenly Stiles felt so dirty. Felt every bit of grime on his skin like it was staining him to his bones. He turned away from the mirror and his appearance, dropping his things on the side of the sink.

He walked towards the shower, reaching inside the damp but relatively clean space to turn it on. Stiles stripped his clothes, dropping them just outside the shower. When he saw steam rise, he stepped inside the shower.

He scrubbed himself to the bone under the burning hot water. Using almost all of the little soap packets they had been provided, only remembering Derek at the last minute.

That was right. He had to share his thing and his space with the man. He had to pull his weight and keep up. Share and stay peaceful.

He set one aside, out of his reach so he wouldn't he tempted to use it. It wasn't his fault that he wanted it. He knew that he didn't need it, that he was already clean. But he couldn't shake the feeling under his skin that had stuck to him since that night.

He didn't know what it was. It could be his anxiety or something else entirely unfamiliar. He didn't know, because it wasn't like he'd done this before.

But he knew he wanted it gone.

...but he soon realised rubbing his skin raw was not going to make it go away. And that no amount of soap was going to wipe away the bruises or the scratches on his body. Because his clothes had hidden more bruising beneath them. He had bruising on his legs, a multitude of small ones, and what looked like two very distinctive handprints on the space between his waist and hips.

He'd scrubbed those extra hard, even when it hurt enough to make him want to cry out.

When he finally left the shower, he dried and dressed in some pyjamas quickly. He kept his gaze purposely away from the general vicinity of the mirror. He couldn't be tempted to look at his body.

Because if he did, if he got that full picture...it was only going to make things worse.

 

And things were bad enough as they were.


End file.
